Cerulean Skies and Emerald Eyes
by Spitfyah
Summary: Francis had been alone all his life. He'd always been satisfied with that, convincing himself he didn't need anyone else. It wasn't until Arthur moved into his quiet dorm and spiced his life up that Francis realized he'd been missing out on one of the greatest aspects of life: love. FrUK college AU!
1. Chapter 1

Being 22 was hard.

Between juggling essays and a taxing job and everything in between on God's green earth, Francis didn't have time for relationships, romance, vacations, even summer. Though the thought of such a life might seem awful, Francis was content, quietly resigned to the fact that this was how it would always be. He didn't have time for parties. He didn't drink. He wasn't a hooligan (contrary to popular belief) and he didn't have love interests.

To be perfectly honest, Francis didn't _want_ a love interest. He was busy, and that would distract him. He didn't need anyone.

Or so he thought.

Though the summer was coming to an end, Francis felt that the heat would never cease to beat on his shoulders. As he unlocked the library door, where he worked day and night running his own library, he winced and rolled his shoulder, still nursing a severe burn. Perhaps it wasn't wise to wear tank tops in this weather.

The bell above jingled as he propped the door open and flicked on the light switch. The bleary little library came to life, containing rows and rows of books that Francis (ever the literature snob) had probably all read at least once. Although libraries were noted for their quietness, their lack of "hustle and bustle", Francis's library was different. Being the only library in the small town _made_ it different.

School was starting in three days. Most parents begrudgingly escorted their children into the library, buying them all the books they needed to start out the new year, which meant Francis was exceedingly busy the week before school. In the three years Francis had lived out here, having moved from big-city France to rural America for college, he'd never quite adjusted to these strange people (nor the heat).

But it was ok, because he was making money, making money and surviving, and that was more than what he had done back in France, under the iron grip of his father and the sickly deceptive sweetness of his mother.

Such dreary thoughts surrounded him as he helped a family check out, waving farewell as they exited. Rush hour was over, and the library was once again monotone and quiet, somber. Listlessly Francis idled down the various aisles, fixing misplaced books, shrouded by the useless past that still haunted him-

When Francis felt a body collide into his back, rendering him completely unbalanced, and let out a sharp yelp, gripping the shelf in front of him. He heard books clatter to the floor behind him, and swiftly, he turned.

And everything in the library exploded into colour.

There was spilled tea on the carpet, books with their pages bent scattered everywhere, bulky brown framed glasses bent at an awkward angle, but Francis's wide eyes lingered only on the young man sprawled out on the ground before him.

He glanced up, green eyes locking with Francis's, frantically apologizing, "I am so, so clumsy. I'm sorry-"

"No, no," Francis hushed, smiling. "Let me help." He bent down and gathered the books, noting that this young stranger's accent was definitely not American, and hoisted him up off the ground. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy," the stranger huffed, but his smile took away from his biting sarcasm. "I was just looking for a place to hide away, but I understand if you want me to leave-"

Francis laughed and shook his head. "Of course not." Spreading his arms out, he announced, "Francis's bookstore and café is open to everyone, mon ami!"

"I thought that accent sounded French," the other muttered, rolling his eyes. "Fantastic. I've befriended a frog the first day of living in America."

Clutching his chest, Francis gasped, enrapt in this new, colorful stranger. "Frog? Please. And you must be a stuffy, scone-loving, tea-drinking bastard with _that_ getup." He gestured toward the black sweater vest. "My advice to you is do _not_ wear black in American summer, ...?"

"Arthur," the blonde interjected. "You can call me Arthur."

Smiling, Francis bowed. "And I am Francis. Francis Bonnefoy. I also go by King Francis the Third of-"

"Shut up."

Green eyes haunted Francis for the rest of the day, and suddenly, the library wasn't so monotone anymore.

—

But all too soon, school started. If Francis had been busy during the summer, he certainly was even more busy now- being a senior in college wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Granted, it was nice to see old friends, one of said old friends especially.

"Francis!"

Turning, Francis was instantly glomped by someone with silver dyed hair. Nose curling, Francis reared back, about to tell the person off, but on further inspection, he realized-

"Gilbert?! Your _hair_!? _What did you do_?!" He cried out.

Snickering, Gilbert struck a pose. "You like? I dyed it. Screw blondes!"

Rolling his eyes, Francis started his descent down the stairs, Gilbert on his heels. "I dealt with the red. Hell, I even dealt with black. But _silver_?! _Silver,_ Gilbert? Is that really necessary?"

"Meh."

"Meh?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Meh."

" _Merde_ , I hate meeting you after breaks."

Francis didn't fancy sitting in a classroom for hours, and now was _really_ starting to regret choosing History as his minor, already swamped with essays and reading. He tapped his fingers against his desk, tried to focus in, started to wonder why the English language was so complicated, and wondered if maybe he could pretend to be deaf.

Gilbert walked with him to his dorm after his last class. "So, the incoming freshman are-"

"Cute?" Francis interrupted with a sly look at his friend. "Don't we go through this routine every year?" Gilbert opened his mouth to reply, but Francis stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. His dorm room was open, boxes strewn in the entry way.

"Oh yeah," Gilbert snickered. "They ran out of dorms in the freshman wing. Some are being thrown in with the seniors. Looks like your lucky day!"

He walked off, leaving Francis to his misery. Grimacing, Francis stepped over the boxes, an irritated whine sounding from his mouth as he walked into the room. However, his irritation was abruptly cut short at the sight of Arthur sitting at the small breakfast table, sipping on what was presumably tea.

"Arthur?"

The blonde turned his head, eyes widening. "Francis?"

"I had no idea you were-"

Throwing his head back in despair, Arthur groaned, " _Shit!_ I'm rooming with a disgusting frog!"

Francis gave a sharp laugh. "And you think I'm leaping for joy at your presence? Mind you, I've always been alone, and I don't need you encroaching on my space, bastard."

That was the day Francis found out that Arthur had quite the temper, and was not afraid to throw things at someone he barely knew. As he lay in bed, typing up his essay, he wondered why he was relived to finally have a roommate. He'd always been alone, and he'd never had problems with that fact.

There was something about Arthur, Francis thought. Something strange.

And it would just get better.

* * *

 _Ehehe, not feeling the USUK right now, guys. I'm kinda going into my FrUK stage, and this story has been on my mind for a few days now. So, suffer through some college AU FrUK with me! This story won't be long. It's honestly just a fluff piece on how they met and *spoilers* how they fell in love. And... there may be smut in the last chapter, who knows._

 _Side note: Anyone disappointed that Finland and Belarus didn't qualify in Eurovision? Anyone?_


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up now was quite different.

Arthur wasn't exactly a morning person, and as he walked out of the bathroom, he almost collided with Francis. With an irritated huff, he brushed by Francis, mulling around the kitchen while angrily muttering curses under his breath. Amused, Francis decided to push his luck.

"Good morning-"

"Don't say another word, or heads will roll," Arthur threatened. Francis had never seen someone drink tea so aggressively in his life. "Everyone I know- _everyone_ \- told me, 'Oh, college will be easy, Arthur! It was the best time of my life! Hahaha!' Well, guess what?! They didn't inform me of the homework and the studying and the _rude-ass_ people-"

He continued ranting, throwing dishes into the sink and kicking boxes out of the way. Francis covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh. Maybe his roommate was moody, but it was the most hilarious thing Francis had seen in a year.

He didn't see Arthur during the day much, usually only in passing down the hall. Both ignored each other anyway, an unspoken rule during school. Francis was always tailed by Gilbert, who took all of Francis's attention anyway.

"Your roommate's a hotty."

Francis rolled his eyes, surprised to feel himself becoming embarrassed. "Shut up."

"Have you told him?"

Francis paused in the hallway, Gilbert turning to face him. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat grew dry, and swallowing, he looked away. Gilbert sighed, eyes softening. "Francis, how many times do I have to tell you? No one here cares if you're gay. Hell, I'm gay, and everyone likes me!"

That wasn't true, and both of them knew it. People still _did_ care. People were cruel and teased Gilbert all the time for being open about the fact he was proud to be a _"taboo"_. But Gilbert didn't care. He was simply himself, unconcerned about how the world viewed him, and he'd do anything in his power to assure that Francis felt accepted.

"I know," Francis smiled. "But I'm sure he's straight." He paused, and then quickly added, "It's not like I'm into him anyway. He's _British,_ Gilbert. We were essentially-" they continued walking to class- "destined to be enemies. Don't you read history?"

"Screw history! I knew I always hated it for a reason. Besides, I'm sure you'd have, like, the greatest dynamic in the bedr-"

"Shut _up!_ "

Gilbert laughed, but his smile disappeared as they rounded the corner. A group of students were gathered around a fight, all chanting and hollering. The two seniors neared, curious, when Francis saw a glimpse of Arthur's face as he was punched and thrown against the lockers with a harsh bang.

Before Gilbert could hold him back, Francis shoved his way through the crowd and threw his fist into the other kid's face, sending him staggering backwards. He recognized this student- one of the sophomores, a troublemaker and popular athlete. " _Merde,"_ Francis cursed, eyeing the other as he stood, growling.

"This isn't your fight, blondie. You think you could _really_ take me?"

Raising his fists in front of his face, Francis snarled, " _On va voir_."

—

Nursing a black eye, Francis paced his dorm room, under a sort of "house arrest." Frustrated, he approached the window, gazing out at the people below. He itched to go outside, to smack that sophomore in the face again, and then paused.

Why even _had_ he attacked him?

Now confused, Francis sat down on his bed, hands in his lap. Why had he gone ballistic all for his freshman roommate, whom, for all he knew, could probably handle his own fights?

On cue, the door opened, and Arthur walked in, relatively unscathed save for the cut above his eye. Francis's gaze caught his, and immediately, Arthur asked, "Do you have a death wish, you idiot?"

Nose crinkling, Francis snapped, "You're welcome."

"I can take care of myself," he growled, and took off toward the bathroom. However, Francis caught his arm before he could hide away.

"Oh, I'm sure you can, Arthur. It's not like you were getting beat up-"

Arthur shoved him roughly, eyes narrowed. "I didn't _ask_ for your help! I didn't ask for any of this _bullshit!"_ He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving behind a wide-eyed Francis.

His chest burned uncomfortably as he sat, but not from physical pain. Pulling out his laptop, Francis opened up his unfinished History essay over the war of Austrian Succession, sighing. He'd left off, of course, on British-French relations (or lack thereof), and reading over the passage filed with loathing between the two countries, and thought despondently, _perhaps Arthur truly is the embodiment of England, and I France._

—

Francis left for his bookstore before Arthur came out of hiding. It was a relaxing break, Francis supposed, lounging behind his desk and fiddling with his reading glasses. Although the AC was busted and fans really didn't do the job, Francis felt considerably less on fire than he had felt in his own room.

Until the bell above the door jingled, and in walked Arthur, eyes cast downward. Francis uncertainly slid aside his book and took off his reading glasses, prepared to offer another argument, when Arthur muttered, "I'm sorry for getting you into trouble."

Surprised, Francis slowly rounded the desk, nearing the shorter. "It wasn't your fault." Arthur didn't reply, but when their eyes met, he smiled. "And, to be honest," Francis sniffed disdainfully, "It was worth beating that idiot sophomore up. I've hated him ever since I met him."

"Oh, he'll need stitches, I'm sure," Arthur teased softly.

Contentedly, Francis smiled. "After that beating we gave him, he'll be _covered_ in stitches, darling."

Usually, business was slow after school started, but no one walked into Francis's bookstore after Arthur. In other circumstances, Francis would have been chagrined, but as he followed Arthur between rows of books, winding in and out of shelves as they chatted about random thoughts, Francis couldn't find himself to care.

"How long have you lived here, Francis?"

"Three years. I moved here from France, if you couldn't guess."

Arthur pulled out a book from the shelf, reading the cover. Francis noticed that the cut above his eye looked swollen. "And why did you move? I don't particularly _like_ France, but...?"

Uneasily, Francis pushed blonde strands of hair out of his face. "I had some family problems. And you? Why would you leave England?"

"Family problems," Arthur supplied with a smirk. He slid the book back into place and circled around Francis. "What are you majoring in?"

"Art, actually. I minor in History. And you?"

Arthur looked up to the ceiling and shrugged. "I haven't really decided yet." He paused, glanced at Francis, and with an amused huff, stated, "This is like some weird version of 20 questions."

"My turn, then. Why did you get into a fight with that kid this morning?"

Stiffening, Arthur turned away from Francis, suddenly defensive. "It honestly wasn't a big deal. He was just irritating me."

Francis studied his back, coming closer. Even though he was curious, he decided not to push too far. "Your turn."

"What does _on va voir_ mean?"

Smirking, Francis rounded a corner, grabbing a book that hadn't been bought, and tossed it to Arthur. "Read up on the French language, if you're curious."

They tossed questions back and forth for hours, content to banter and tease, and Francis couldn't remember why he had always wished to be alone before. Though Arthur came across as stuffy and irritating, it didn't take much for him to come out of his shell, and Francis was left reeling, trying to remember the last time he had flirted and had been flirted with.

Strangely, Arthur and Francis, in two days, had cultivated a friendship that normally would have taken two months to grow.

—

The weekends were usually, for Francis, exceedingly boring. He'd only open the bookstore until lunch, then he'd go visit Gilbert, who worked in a greenhouse ( _like the little girl he was,_ Francis would always tease). He assumed that Arthur would be busy with all of his friends, hitting up the clubs in the big city just east, but was pleasantly surprised to wake up to the sounds of the news channel, the music playing from a speaker, and the smell of tea.

Arthur was hunting for something in the fridge, grumbling about how untidy Francis was, wearing only boxers and an oversized sweatshirt. Francis rubbed his eyes and sat up, trying not to stare and failing miserably.

"I hope you're not going anywhere today," Arthur mused without turning, as if he could sense Francis's eyes on his back. "I'd be terribly bored here alone." He turned, smirking, as Francis stood up and stretched. "Miserable, even."

Clicking his tongue, Francis pushed back his hair, nearing, and both would be lying if they said their hearts didn't speed up, chests almost touching as they flirted unabashedly.

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Francis shook his head, hand over his heart dramatically. Arthur grinned, hands on his hips, flipping his hair to the side.

"No, we wouldn't want that."


	3. Chapter 3

"If you don't tell him you're gay," Gilbert threatened, grinning, "I'll tell him myself."

"You wouldn't dare," Francis shot back, leaning against his locker. "He isn't gay, Gilbert. It wouldn't matter anyway."

"But you just told me you were _flirting_ together! That's _a sign,_ Francis!"

It was impossible to calm down Gilbert when he was excited, and though everyone should have been used to his outbursts, people passing through the halls still shot him weird looks. Francis sighed, smiling.

"Idiot."

Francis headed straight to the bookstore after class, but was surprised to see Arthur standing beside the door, holding what looked like coffee in his hand. He smiled at Francis as he approached. "Hello there."

"What are you doing here?" Francis asked, tilting his head as Arthur held out a mug to him.

"I hope you like coffee," Arthur shrugged. "Because I'm not going to drink it. And I hope you don't mind me loitering here everyday."

That sounded wonderful to Francis, but, not to sound too desperate, he mused, "Don't you have other friends?"

He was afraid it came out hurtful, but Arthur simply smiled and shook his head. "Nah." He gestured to the cut above his eye, which was healing slowly. "Couldn't you tell?"

Memories from the previous day came back to Francis, and surprisingly, he felt like attacking anyone who scarred Arthur. Swallowing thickly, Francis shrugged, opening up the bookstore. "I don't mind the company."

And thus, Arthur quickly became acquainted with Francis's bookstore. He made himself comfortable behind Francis's desk, usually hiding under it as he read.

Quickly, Francis became used to the company. He was fond of the coffee Arthur never failed to bring, who always claimed, "The people keep getting my order wrong. It's not like I'm voluntarily buying you coffee, idiot."

Though he'd never pegged himself for liking younger males, Francis started to wonder if Gilbert was right.

—

"Though the Napoleonic era consisted of mass bloodshed, more death than imaginable-"

"I'd cut that fragment," Francis advised, sprawled out on the couch. Arthur sat on the edge, laptop balanced on his knees, trying to type up an essay in the middle of the night.

"But I liked that part!"

"You woke me up at 2 in the damn morning," Francis groused, "so listen to me and take it out."

Grumbling, Arthur hit the backspace button pointedly. "Fine. Blah blah blah, bloodshed...?"

"Though it did consist of bloodshed, it was truly a pivoting moment-"

"...It... Truly... Was..."

"No, no, no! You make up your own words!"

"But-"

"No."

"I hate you," Arthur huffed, backspacing once again. Though every light in their dorm was off, blue light from the laptop illuminated Arthur's face, giving his eyes a cat-like glow as he smirked at Francis.

Lifting his foot off the couch, Francis playfully swatted Arthur's face. "Go make me some coffee before I fall asleep."

"Only if you let me copy every word you say."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Whatever. And don't you dare turn that light on, or so help me, you will die."

"I'm quivering in fear," Arthur called back, heading off to the tiny kitchen. Francis couldn't help but smile, pulling a blanket down from the couch, and involuntarily, his eyes drifted shut.

* * *

Gilbert didn't show up to class.

That worried Francis, because Gilbert _always_ showed up, no matter what, just to irritate him. Looking back on their three years as best friends, Francis couldn't remember a time Gilbert fell sick- the man was essentially immune to diseases.

Francis pushed the worry out of his mind, reminding himself that Gilbert probably had just slept in. However, the absence of his friend affected him more than he realized. A glance to the clock showed that Francis had been drifting off for more than 20 minutes- a glance to his paper showed that he'd been doodling, not taking notes like he usually would.

"Francis!"

Shaken out of his strange reverie, Francis jolted visibly, blue eyes wide as he stared back at his stern professor. "Y-yes?"

"Care to explain the drooping eyes? Out partying all night with your _gay_ friend?"

She spat out the word like it was nasty bile, and snickers echoed throughout the classroom. Francis recoiled, drowsiness replaced with fury, but he couldn't say anything. He wouldn't ruin his reputation by defending his best friend, and that made him even more sick than her nasty words.

The bell rang, and Francis, quickly gathering his books, raced out of the dull room, out into the white, monochrome hallway, trying not to stumble into anyone.

 _I'm sick,_ he told himself. _I'm a sick coward._

And he completely forgot about running into people, which he unfortunately did, stumbling with a yelp and pinning whomever to the wall before both could tumble onto the ground. Trying not to sound like a bumbling idiot (and failing miserably), Francis looked up, opening his mouth to say one word and run off again-

When his monochrome world burst into colour, because Arthur was staring back at him, green eyes instantly taking away every other thought Francis had. It was _Arthur_ he had pinned against the wall, glaring up at him with amused expression. "Well, hello there, stranger."

Francis couldn't recover quick enough, and felt himself reddening before he could even think to reply. He stared down at the petite freshman, forgetting the compromising fact that he had Arthur pinned against the wall, eyes taking in the only person that could bring colour into his dull, lifeless world.

"Can you let go of me now?"

Snapping to attention, Francis started his traditional routine of embarrassing himself, babbling apologies as he righted himself, backing away from Arthur. Laughing quietly, Arthur shook his head, silencing him with a flick of his hand. "Now we're even, ok?"

Remembering their first meeting had gone very similarly to this, Francis laughed, too, and picked up his bag. "Are you headed to class?"

"Um, it's lunch, Francis. What in bloody hell is wrong with you today?" Arthur teased, starting to walk down the hall. He glanced back at a motionless Francis. "You coming?"

Francis pointed to himself, lips quirking upward. "Me?"

"Yes, you idiot. Are you coming to eat with me or what?"

Francis didn't hesitate, accompanying him through the halls. Arthur led him outside to one of the abandoned picnic tables, breeze ruffling aside his hair as he sat. "So. You'll never believe what happened to me today."

Sitting gracefully, Francis raised an eyebrow at the freshman. "You were set ablaze during Chemistry? I'd laugh."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Bastard. _Actually,_ that essay you helped me with- I got an A on it. Even my professor called me out on it for doing such a-" he paused, lowering his voice as if he were his professor- " _marvelous_ job, Mr. Kirkland."

An amused chuckle fell from Francis's lips. "It's like a History major helped you or something."

"Oh, I know." Arthur grinned.

Francis ended up forgetting his terrible start of a day, and as he lay on the bottom bunk, staring up at the bottom of the bed Arthur slept in, he decided that Gilbert was most definitely right. And that scared him, because falling for someone was something Francis had told himself _not_ to do. _Never._

Exhaling heavily, Francis pushed off his blanket and ambled around the dark room, opening the fridge. He needed to cool off. His mind was just playing with him. It was midnight, of course he was delusional.

"Are you ok?"

Francis glanced back at the top bunk. Arthur sat up, watching him, green eyes drowsy. Smiling, Francis shook his head. "Just getting some water."

"Make me grilled cheese."

Frowning as if Arthur were crazy (which he most certainly was), Francis exclaimed, "It's 1 in the morning!"

Arthur shrugged, climbing down the stairs of the bunk. He walked over to Francis, stretching, and arms wound around Francis's waist. He buried his head into Francis's back, mumbling, " _Make_ me grilled cheese, _now."_

The gesture of affection (albeit demanding) made Francis's chest swell, and smiling, he decided that making grilled cheese in the middle of the night wasn't _that_ big of a deal, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

There was something wrong with Gilbert.

It wasn't obvious to anyone that didn't know Gilbert like Francis did. His absence the other day had worried Francis, and now his suspicious behavior (sneaking out of class warily, remaining more or less quiet in the halls, not following Francis around) only confirmed that something was _off._

And so, Francis decided to confront Gilbert- this was mistake number 1.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Gilbert looked furious, which was odd, because they always teased each other. "Piss off." His voice was quiet, warning- frowning, Francis kept pushing, mistake number 2.

"I know you- you never act like this. Why can't you trust me?"

"That's _just_ like you, isn't it? Making it _always_ about _you_!" Gilbert snarled, stalking away, leaving behind a very confused, bewildered Francis.

Understandably, Francis's demeanor the remainder of the day was exceedingly unpleasant, mulling over all the reasons that _he_ was right and _Gilbert_ was in the wrong and just a pain in the ass. So, when he approached the bookstore and confronted Arthur, standing by the locked door with coffee, he snapped, "I don't want your charity, and I don't want you distracting me today."

Instead of the hurt look Francis wanted to see on his face, Arthur frowned, looking more curious than offended. "And what's up your ass?"

Groaning, Francis pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "Nothing." He then glanced up at Arthur, and muttered, "Why aren't you running away?"

"Honey," Arthur huffed, eyebrows raising, "I lived with three rude-ass brothers for 17 years. You'll have to say much more than that to ruffle my feathers. Now, open the damn door and let's talk."

And all of Francis's walls came crashing down, the ones that he'd spent so many years building up. How one person could completely disarm him Francis didn't know, but he couldn't help but pour out his heart, and soon, he was talking about much more than Gilbert.

"...And Gilbert was my only friend-" he ranted, pacing in a straight line, back and forth, "-when I moved to this godforsaken hellhole, and he had trouble with his homophobic parents, too, so _of course_ I'd recognize-"

Arthur's eyes widened slightly. Francis stopped pacing, cursed his stupid mouth, and slowly made eye contact with the other.

"Are you gay?" Arthur asked, voice carefully neutral.

Francis hesitated, looked away, and sighed out. "I would hope this doesn't ruin..." he trailed off, glancing back at Arthur with a despondent expression.

"So, _that_ was why you came here," Arthur spoke softly. "To make sure your parents never knew..." Francis didn't reply, expecting the other to walk out, but Arthur simply shrugged. "You being gay doesn't ruin our relationship, idiot. I don't befriend someone solely based on their sexual orientation." And then, he smiled, and Francis hoped his reddening face didn't give away anything he was feeling. "I befriended you because I liked you as a _person_." He paused, and then playfully added, "And you make a damned good grilled cheese at one in the morning."

Francis smiled, too, and breathed out, "Thank you, Arthur."

"Jesus, did you _really_ think I was _that_ narrow-minded?!" Arthur snorted, hand over his heart as if he were offended, but he was still beaming at Francis, and it made the senior want to melt into the floor.

—

Gilbert didn't turn up at class again, but Francis, still stubbornly irritated at his old friend, told himself he didn't care- even though his subconscious told him something was seriously wrong.

Besides, he was too busy trying to convince himself that when Arthur walked by, the way he swished his hips and blinked his eyelashes back at him _was just in his imagination._

God, he'd been afraid of this. Now that he'd told the object of his affection that he was, in fact, gay, and that his object of affection had, in fact, accepted him, his mind was playing dirty tricks on him.

 _He is straight,_ Francis mused, his facial expressions drawing strange looks from the average passerby. _Just because he accepted you doesn't mean he feels the same._

Oh, but Arthur made it hard for him, because as he entered into their dorm, the freshman was lounging on the couch, wearing what Francis was _very_ sure _his_ shirt.

Their eyes met, and Arthur laughed, "What? You look like your life just flashed before your eyes."

"Isn't... isn't that my shirt...?" Was all Francis could come up with.

"Well, mine was dirty, and yours looked comfortable, and-" he paused, eyes widening, waving his hands up and down, and exclaimed, "Ah! Shut up! My favorite show is on."

Francis sighed, smiled, and decided to join him on the couch. He made sure to stay on the _opposite_ end, so that their thighs wouldn't touch and Francis wouldn't backflip off the couch in a fit of passion. Commending himself on being such a saint, the senior pulled out his laptop from his bag, grateful that it was Friday and that he didn't have to open the bookstore.

About halfway into watching his show, Arthur leaned over, glancing at Francis's screen. "What are you doing?"

"Emailing my nosy parents." _Oh no, he's too close, too close-_

Arthur frowned. "What are they saying?"

"They want to know if I have hundreds of women swooning at my feet," Francis sighed out. "Of course, to their noble status, having a wealthy life and several affairs is all they care about."

"You could just tell them you have a girlfriend," Arthur suggested, a devious grin on his lips. "It's not like they care enough to fly all the way over here and make sure, right?"

"True..." Francis smashed the keyboard as if getting rid of his jitters, and Arthur laughed softly. "Alright. What they don't know won't hurt them." He typed a hasty reply, one that affirmed all their deceptively sweet questions, and sent the email. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Arthur replied. "How was Gilbert?"

"Didn't show up today."

"You think he's alright?"

Francis scoffed, convincing himself he didn't care. "No idea." To his relief, Arthur could tell he didn't want to talk about it, and they simply sat, enjoying the other's presence. Tucking his legs under him, Francis began typing up a sloppy essay for History, but just as he zoned in, words coming fluently, a heavy weight fell against his shoulder. Stiffening, Francis's slender fingers paused over the keys, thoughts escaping him.

Arthur was asleep, cheek pressed to his shoulder, entire weight slumped fully onto the senior's shoulder. Francis, motionless, touched his forehead, just to make sure he was asleep, fingers trailing down his cheek, brushing stringy hair behind his ear-

Shuddering, Francis stood, gently lowering Arthur's head against the couch, and darted away to the kitchen sink, breathing heavily, hands clutching the edge of the counter.

 _Stop it,_ he reminded himself. _You don't want to lose what you have, do you?_

Out of the corner of his eye, Francis caught sight of their basket of dirty clothes. Arthur's shirt- the one he'd been wearing today- was draped carelessly over the edge, ready to fall.

Francis walked over, gripping it in his hands and throwing it back in. However, when he looked down at his fingers, they were stained slightly red. Brow furrowing, Francis reached in for the shirt again, lifting it up.

There was a patch of something dark on the collar. _P_ _robably spilled juice,_ Francis reasoned, but something was biting at him, gnawing away at his mind, so he lifted the shirt to his nose.

Recoiling in surprise, Francis glanced back at Arthur, still asleep on the couch. His shirt smelled distinctly of blood.

—

Francis didn't want to be pushy. Arthur had already warned him once to stay out of his problems, and based on how Gilbert had acted recently, the senior didn't want to handle _that_ again. He'd always had trouble staying out of other people's problems, especially those who didn't want his advice.

But he was worried. Gilbert was acting strange, Arthur seemed normal but his bloody shirt had been strange, and Francis wanted to confront him about it. For the rest of the day, however, he bit his tongue, observing Arthur a bit more closely than usual. Surprised he'd failed to notice it before, Francis spotted a bruise right below Arthur's lower lip. Not that he was checking out Arthur's lips, of course.

Despite his incredible control (for four hours) Francis caved in as the evening came. Arthur's shirt in between his hands, the senior sat on the lower bunk- Arthur's bed- waiting for the freshman to return from the grocery store.

The door swung open, Arthur hauling white, flimsy bags of food and hurling them carelessly onto the table. "Alright, that should hold us over for-" He sensed the mood, turning and catching Francis's eyes.

Francis stood, trying to keep his tone carefully neutral. "Your shirt," he said, "smelled like blood. Care to explain?"

He'd never been good with words, and inwardly flinched at how accusing he sounded. Arthur recoiled slightly, fingers clenching into fists at his sides defensively. "I don't think it's any of your business."

 _So it was blood,_ Francis thought, stepping closer to the freshman. "It's _absolutely_ my business when my _roommate's_ shirt has blood on it."

Arthur scowled, turning around and unpacking groceries from the bags. "It's seriously nothing," he replied coldly. "Just a squabble with someone stupid, nothing else."

"Nothing?" Francis gripped his shoulder, whirling him around. "You're bruised," he pointed out, lifting his chin with gentle fingers. Heartbeat quickening, Francis's thumb slowly swept over Arthur's swollen bottom lip- Arthur notably flinched, eyes lowering. "Why are you picking fights?"

Arthur pushed him away, snarling caustically, "Get your fingers off of me, _pervert_."

If there was anything that made Francis hot-headed, it was being called a pervert. After several minutes of yelling colorful insults and throwing things at each other, they settled into a cold silence that lasted into the night.

Francis stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, unable to comprehend why Arthur had to be so stubborn. He sighed quietly, turning onto his side, fingers gripping the sheets.

It wasn't until the morning that Francis started to feel guilty, watching Arthur pointedly ignore him as he sipped his tea, reading at their small table. He decided that he liked Arthur's smile more than he liked being right, so, touching Arthur's shoulder to grab his attention, Francis murmured, "I apologize for being an intrusive ass."

He could see the struggle to remain stubborn written all over Arthur's face, but finally rolled his eyes in defeat, smiling up at the senior. "I'm sorry for being insensitive."

 _Wow,_ Francis thought, almost proud of himself. _Apologizing actually isn't that bad._ "If you ever need my help," he added, "I'm always willing."

"I know," Arthur said softly. His demeanor suddenly grew playful. "Now, make me grilled cheese."

—

"No. No, no, no, _God, no_!" Francis shrieked, throwing his laptop haphazardly across the room.

Arthur glanced over at him from the couch. "What's wrong?"

Pacing frantically, Francis groaned, "It's my parents. They're coming to visit. In three days."

"Oh." Arthur propped his elbows on the back of the couch. "So? Just pretend like you always do."

Eyes wide, Francis exclaimed, "But I _told_ them, Arthur. I told them that I had a girlfriend. And that she and I were having a _wonderful_ time, and that we were planning and having a lovely weekend together. Oh, God." He waved his arms around wildly. "Merde, I'm screwed."

"Oh," Arthur said again lamely. "That was my fault, wasn't it?"

"It's not your fault. They would have found out how disappointing my life was eventually," Francis bitterly spat out. Gritting his teeth, he would have ripped his hair out, if Arthur hadn't touched his shoulder, gently drawing him out of his frenetic state.

"I told you to write that email. So, I'll help you," he said determinedly, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips. "And it just so happens that I am in drama."

"What?! You're an actor?"

Arthur shrugged. "Ever since my freshman year in high school. And," he smirked, "My senior year, we were short on good female actors. So, I was cast as the lead female role. And I was _damn_ good."

The lilt in his voice shocked Francis, finally following along. "Arthur, I'm not going to force you to pretend to be my girlfriend-"

"No," Arthur interjected firmly, lips still quirked upwards. "I got you into this mess, and I'm going to get you out of it."


End file.
